[Lupin is listening to her, even if he doesn't watch. He is pulling on his pants and shoes instead. He was glad to have his Walther, but he had no patience for the holster at the moment. It was shoved into the back of his waistband instead.

He frowned at her torrent of words. They were nonsensical...but the wings were there, the book was there.

He never really a man of faith, outside of faith held in himself and his friends. Given that derth in supernatural explanation--fate, 'God's plan'. He had to believe the words laid out before him.

It was insane and nonsense, but Fujiko's lies were usually at least plausible.]

Prison camps, Fujiko? Drafts? Is there a war going on? And 'tests?' Even dreams make more sense than this!

[He pulled on his jacket. The fit was perfect, complete with the wear that it had endured through the years and everything. It was his. Lupin ran a hand over his head, straightening his messy hair. He didn't feel right with it mussed like he had just rolled out of bed. It cramped his style.]

I don't like what I'm hearing. I don't like it at all. [He's frowning, a glimmer of anger burning in his gaze. Just because he hadn't experienced it first hand doesn't mean that it doesn't bother him. The magic, the no currency, and the boredom he could deal with. The experiments and drafts? Not so much.]